Keeping Grace
by the-compulsive-tea-drinker
Summary: Life has been pretty difficult for Grace Sparrow when Victor Benedict walks into it. And he isn't making it any easier. Every day she spends with him, she falls in love with him a little more. And every day she spends with him is another confirmation the feeling isn't returned. As she struggles with her present, history is repeating itself, and it doesn't look like it's going away.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter one

They sit in a circle on the living room floor. Everyone is looking expectantly at the girl with madly curly hair, who is perched on a boy's lap. Their long legs stretch out into the centre of the circle. She beams at the occupants of the room.

"Right, shall we go upwards, in age?" she asks. And in answer to their confused expressions, "_Victor_, idiots." The tall man who is sitting at the edge of the circle stiffens. She smiles, reassuringly.  
"I'll…just do what I did last time, eh? It seemed to work last time," she says, smiling at a small girl snuggled in a protective embrace of the tall man next to her. The girl beams back.  
"Right…" she trails off, face creased in concentration. Everyone looks at her in anticipation. Her eyes slowly rise, nervous. Glancing behind her at the boy who has his arms wrapped around her waist, she says, "I'm getting what I got before, at the wedding."

The boy gives a low chuckle. She frowns, irritated, and swats his arm. "And on to you. Hey, Victor, Xav is gonna tell you about your soulfinder."  
He laughs again. "Oh no Cupcake, you're the soulseeker. Aaand back to you."

The man this playful banter is aimed at fidgets in his spot on the floor, uncomfortable. "Guys…?" he prompts.  
"Fine," the girl huffs, "but you promised, Xav. You owe me." Turning to the man, she looks him in the eye. "She is in rural Afghanistan. She doesn't live there, but is…visiting? She seems…really nice. Really nice."

The boy behind her snorts. She reaches back and slaps him. "She is also…well, she's kinda…"  
The boy raises an eyebrow, irritated. He is anxious, on edge. "She's what?"  
"She's in prison. I'm not sure what for, or what kind of prison. She could be wrongly imprisoned, or-" She breaks off, concentrating. "No, she definitely did what she is in prison for, but I don't know whether it's…" she shakes her head. "I don't know Victor, but she seems like a genuinely good person."

He smiles, but his face is guarded, closed. His mother, a small woman standing in the doorway, frowns sadly. She hardly ever sees him smile anymore. She hopes this with bring him happiness, not more grief. He asks, "Could you give me a more exact location? Afghanistan is a pretty big place."  
She nods. "I'll try…okay, the most exact I can get is somewhere near Shinkay. I don't know whereabouts, but somewhere around that area."

He nods, a business look on his face. He opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by his phone ringing. Giving them a quick apologetic look, he answers it. "Yes, Victor Benedict speaking. Yes sir. Really? How long? Yes, that sounds fine. I'll come to the office tonight, get the details. Yes sir. Goodbye."

He shuts the phone, a dazed expression on his face. One of his brothers raises an eyebrow. He smiles, a genuine smile. "Whoever said coincidences didn't exist?"

**Hope y'all liked this first chapter. Please review! Sorry it was so short.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

I missed my mother. When I was little, whenever I was sick she would wrap me up in blankets and carry me into her bed. She used to make my father get out, so we could cuddle up without somebody falling out the bed. He would go to my bed, and we would lie in the big double bed, cocooned in duvets. Looking back on it, my poor dad must have been miserable as hell, cramped up in my little four year olds bed. But good ol' dad would go off and lie, legs hanging over the end of my bed, pressed against the wall, while I sprawled out across his bed, feverish, my mother at my side.

When she got sick, it stopped. She could barely look after herself, let alone a whiney sick toddler. She used to lie on the sofa, or her big bed, her arm outstretched towards me, too weak to sit up. I would sit at the end of the bed, near to her, but not disturbing her. Even at the young age of four I could tell how sick she was. All I wanted was for her to get better. I'd wish on every shooting star, on every blow of a candle on a birthday cake, and spend hours combing the garden for four leaf clovers. But I guess that wishes don't always come true.

My mother was beautiful. She always held the attention of everyone in the room, and a laugh from her would set anyone around her laughing. She smelled like floral soaps, and clean cotton. Her hair fell to her waist in copper waves. Her skin was the shade of freshly fallen snow, blue veins lightly tracing along her wrists and neck. When she got sick, her skin grew almost translucent, her beautiful hair gone. She didn't laugh as much, too tired to do much else but sleep. The only time she would laugh was with my father and me, and even that didn't happen often. I thought I made her sadder sometimes. She would watch me, her beautiful face drawn and distracted. I think she was watching me grow up, watching my first date, my wedding, my children. She was watching the things she would never see. She was still beautiful though, serene and self-possessed. People used to say how alike we looked. I've caught my father watching me sometimes, a thoughtful look on his face, and it pains me to think that I am hurting him, reminding him of the wife he loved.

When I was diagnosed with cancer, I would hide in the woods that ran along the edge of my houses grounds. I would run to escape the looks of pity, and shock. You see, it is one thing to have a family member get cancer, even to die from it. It may not occur a lot, but it does happen. People genuinely feel sympathy for you, and try to ease the suffering you feel, but they move on, and so do you. It takes time, and hurts like hell, but one day you can look back at them with fondness, and rejoice in the life they lived, without doubling over, crippled with grief. Somehow, gravity shifts when it's your second family member dying, in the space of a year. I couldn't bear to see the looks on the visitors' faces, of my father's pained expression. Because I was the poor motherless child dying of the same illness that killed her mother. To be exact, acute lymphoblastic leukemia. And I couldn't deal with that. After a while, my siblings would join me. My sister, Patience would pull me onto her lap, and my oldest brother, Ash, would wrap his arms around both of us, my head against his shoulder. My second brother, Rowan, would put his head in my lap, and we would sit there, together, us against the world.

It was Patience who cried the hardest when the chemotherapy took my hair. It had thinned, strands upon strands collecting in my hairbrush, until Patience pulled a comb through my hair, sending an entire clump fluttering listlessly to the ground. I think she still has it, tucked away in a box in her room. It was Ash who took me shopping for scarves to cover my head, and tops that didn't fall low enough to expose my catheter. It was Rowan who fought all my battles for me, when I couldn't fight them myself.

Rowan and I are both savants. For some reason my oldest brother and sister did not inherit the savant gifts, and when we were younger, Rowan and I shamelessly used these powers to beat our older, stronger siblings. Where my power is a defensive power, Rowan's is offensive, with the ability to track down anyone, all over the world. We would play games of hide and seek tag, with Rowan and me on one team, and Patience and Ash on the other. Rowan would track down where they were hiding, and I would stop them running with my power, so we could tag them. My power of course, was the ability to remove gravity from a certain area. Rowan and I had gotten our powers from our mother. When she died, she couldn't help develop our powers. My father did his best to raise us, and help us use our powers, but I know he found it difficult. My mother had fallen in love with him when she first met him, and decided not to pursue finding her soulfinder. Other savants we had come across thought this was a sweet and brave thing to do. I did agree, but at the same time, I couldn't help thinking about the savant out there, who was waiting for his soulfinder to turn up. And now she never would.

When I was nine, I went into remission. We had a party, my siblings and their friends piling into our living room, all of us doing wacky dancing to loud music. We were all exuberantly happy, laughing hysterically at each other's' antics. All of the friends that were with us were almost as happy as we were. It was one of the happiest times of my life. I settled back into school, and made friends. My life was pretty normal from then on, and the shadow that seemed to linger over me from the cancer dissolved.

Our lives went on. At fourteen, I got my first boyfriend. Patience fussed over me, taking pictures of my dress, before sending me out the house. When I came back, elated from the kiss, she was waiting up, squeals at the ready. She was the oldest of us all, and had taken on the role as mother. However, she was also always my older sister, ready and willing with an opinionated statement that most mothers would have tactfully edited.

After a steady relationship with Carter, my boyfriend for over a year, my family had all but accepted him as part of the family. We were the perfect couple in our small school. Carter and I were referred to as Carter-and-Grace, a single unit in the muddle of single people. My social group was huge, and I had a sea of friends. Compared to my siblings, the number of friends I had was vastly bigger than theirs. I mean Patience, Ash and Rowan were popular, but being Carter's girlfriend gave me the added benefits of my big number of friends. Looking back on it, I may have had more people who called themselves friends, but in reality, I don't think even one could have told me what my favourite colour was.

I lost it all at sixteen. In the middle of the school year, I relapsed. It turns out they prefer to call the getting rid of cancer "going into remission" because they haven't cured it. They've simply chased it away for a while. And it is fully capable of coming back. Two weeks after it was confirmed, although we already knew, Carter dumped me. He said it was due to the fact that he never got to see me because of treatments, and hospitalisation. Everyone knew it was because he was a superficial bastard who didn't want to be the boyfriend of the girl with cancer. Besides when I lost my hair because of chemo, people might _stare_ at me, and Carter couldn't be stared at if it wasn't because of some sort of achievement he had won. Not that he achieved much apart from being pretty. I had to stop Ash and Rowan from beating him up. When Carter broke up with me, all of my supposed friends stopped speaking to me. And it wasn't gradual, with one or two people not sitting with me at lunch, and then a few more and a few more. It was immediate. Carter started dating one of the cheerleaders three days after we broke up. And it was made very clear I wasn't accepted at my old table for lunch.

I did make new friends. Hailey, Harper and Amelia. Hailey was a sports fanatic. She won all races at competitions, and was the best swimmer in our area, with a huge margin. She didn't care about cheerleading, and that ruled her out for the popular group. Never mind the fact that she didn't give a damn about any sort of cliques. Harper was your typical loner. She dyed her hair black in eighth grade, and never dyed it back. She would wear heavy goth makeup, and black clothes to maintain this image, although she once told me she hated the colour black. She was a musician, and wrote some amazing songs. Amelia was like me, quiet, introverted and slightly nerdy. She was very arty, and we shared a love of photography. They stayed my best friends, and I still stay in contact with them. Well, I did.

In my senior year, I went into remission again. My second bout of cancer taught me never to take life for granted. I used to obsess over relapsing yet again, checking for the bruises along my spine telling me that my body had turned traitor again. Hailey, Amelia, Harper and I went camping in the woods near our house. We didn't take tents or sleeping bags, but a load of blankets, and some water. Halfway through the night, it began pouring with rain. We decided not to go back, but to stay there, sitting in the rain. With them, sitting in the rain, I had never felt so close to my friends.

* * *

Four days after I turned nineteen, Hailey was killed in a car accident. "It was a tragedy", the newspapers said. "Freak accident", and, "devastating." What they didn't say was it leaves a huge hole in your chest, which never truly heals. They didn't say that no matter how many times you see death, no matter how many times its shadow touches you; you are never truly prepared for it. It was then when I decided I wanted to do something, that actually made a difference. I joined the army at nineteen.

To be specific, I trained as an average solider, before going on to training to be part of the intelligence support activity, which is part of the spy network. I couldn't bring myself to be part of something where I was killing people who had lives, and were simply doing what I was doing, but on the other side of the equation. Instead, I was doing something which meant I could target people I knew were truly guilty, or not, depending on what I was finding out. I knew they were questionable morals, but I felt I needed to do it, and I was actually good at this. Besides, I needed to get away from the people who knew basically everything about me, and the oppressively stereotypical town I used to live in. When I left for Afghanistan, my family saw me off with tears in their eyes. I can't imagine what worry I caused them. Rowan openly cried, which he never did, not even when I relapsed, and everybody cried then. The only time I had ever seen him cry before was when our mother died. When I asked him why he was crying, he told me I was the most stubborn and possibly bravest person he knew. Ash told me not to die, and Patience told me I better take care, or else. My father simply told me to come back.

In Afghanistan, I was treated with respect. I was quite high up in my position, due to the risks I was taking. I went on a couple of missions, all of which went successfully. Where I was based in Afghanistan, I met Jon, and his friends. He was sweet, and we quickly became a couple. It was a whirlwind relationship, and I found myself falling head over heels in love with him. He asked me to marry him, and I accepted. It was a long engagement, and we planned to get married some point in the distant future. We were so caught up in our relationship, we forgot how short, how delicate life is. We forgot we were in a war zone.

On February 19th, Jon was killed by a sniper when setting up base. He had a small funeral. His parents and immediate family went, along with me and his close friends from back in Afghanistan. I had never met his parents before.

A year on, I had begun to heal. I wasn't over it, but I was on the way. A mission that almost failed landed me in hospital. However, we achieved what we wanted, and my position in the ranks rose. At twenty two, I think it was fair to say I had been through more than my fair share of pain. Two months ago, I was briefed on my next mission. It was to infiltrate the district of Shinkay, to access important information held there. I met with the members of the team that were going with me. There were several people, including James, Michal, Ami, Lucy and Finn. Several of these were regular soldiers, to provide a distraction, if we needed to get out, and to provide protection.

The mission was going well. I had accessed part of the information, and there had been no suspicion. Until I discovered somebody trailing me. I radioed the team to tell them I was being followed, and we decided to get out. Recently, the atmosphere had changed in Shinkay, and I didn't want to be in the middle under suspicion. We began evacuating and I was told to get out of sight, and to lose the trail. I was walking toward the outskirts of the town I was in, when I realised I had a second trail. I was carrying incriminating evidence, and began quickening my pace. Somebody appeared at the end of the street, and I changed my direction. It became a full out chase, where I was being shot at. I managed to lose them in one of the backstreets and made it out to the town outskirts.

One of the soldiers was there, waiting for me, Ami. We had to leave quickly, while the others launched a full blown attack on those fighting against us in the town. We heard the guns beginning to go in the distance and from where we were standing could see the town begin to crumple. The opposition was obviously well prepared for this situation, as they immediately responded. One of our soldiers was trying to evacuate the townspeople, and the rest focusing on the fight. The battle was growing closer to us, and we were about to leave when we saw the boy. In the middle of the gunfire, there was a little boy, about two or three. He was crying, and had obviously been separated from his parents. Without speaking, Ami and I agreed strategy. Bent down low for cover, I ran into the crossfire. Ami stood at the side, protecting me, watching my back. Scooping him up, I began the sprint back to Ami. When I reached her side, she turned, and followed me. Our aim was to reach the pre-agreed safe point, but we never did reach it.

The ground in front of us exploded in an eruption of earth. The force of the explosion sent me flying backwards. Head spinning, I tried to stand, but fell again. My ears were ringing, and I was disorientated. Men who were hiding in the houses around us came spilling out, running towards us. They were dressed all in black, and reminded me of ants, spilling forwards towards us. Two seized my legs, and another grabbed my arm. Frantically glancing around, I saw Ami being held down, as she screamed and fought and cried. She thrashed around so she could see me. We locked eyes, and she stopped for a moment. I lowered my eyes, horrified that she had been caught too. They loaded us into the back of a van, and drove off. As I lay in the sweltering heat in the back, I realised I hadn't seen what had happened to the little boy we had rescued.

...

At some point, the lump on my head combined with the sticky heat in the van lead me to pass out. When I woke up, I was in a small cell. The walls were stone, leeching out all the heat in my body. Light pooled into the enclosed space I was in, bands of sun striping the opposite walls. Stiffly I dragged myself to the source of the light. It was a window, set high into the wall. Too high for me to reach. It was sunk deep, and if the light was not streaming through, I would not have known it was there. I could tell there were bars crossing it, from the shadows they were causing. From the baking heat that was wafting into my cell, I would have guessed there was no glass in the window, giving the uncomfortable warmth entrance. Squinting into the dark, I could make out a slumped figure lying in the corner of the room. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw it was a person, the slender curving frame indicating a female. The unknown female gave out a choked sigh, tossing in her slumber.

It was that little sound that identified the small heap. I don't know whether I was particularly attuned to that sound, having listened to her suffer alongside me, both of us unconcious; or whether it was simply me matching the sound of her cries to the sound of her whimpers, but either way, I knew that she was little Ami. I crawled over to her motionless form. Gently placing my hand against her clammy forehead, I cradled her limp form in my arms. Quiet cajoling did not wake her, nor did sharper lamentations. I quickly realised it would have to be a wait for her feverish state to pass. As I sat, her head in my lap, I realised how young this girl was. Her face held the quiet innocence of youth and the sweetness also. She had not suffered in this life, and I would have bet that this was the first time she had been fully exposed to the harshness of death, and admittedly life too. I would have guessed she was a few years younger than me, around twenty. Her self-assurance in the battle had previously led me to believe she was older, but sleep stripped away the defences.

Thankfully, no one entered our cell while she was unconscious. I began to picture it as a holding pen, a place to keep the creatures we had become, before they were shipped off for other uses. I was praying our use to our captors would not lead to our slaughter. Around dusk, the still form in my arms began to awake. She had lay, un-responding in my arms throughout midday, in which the dry heat had permeated everything, including my skin clothes and hair. But now, with the air cooling rapidly, she began to stir. I stroked the sweaty hair off her forehead, trying to break the impact of her surroundings when awake, so that she was not too scared. Ami's eyes fluttered open, then shut. Cautiously she raised her head, glancing around the dark room. She suddenly became aware of the girl whose lap she was laying on.

"Grace?" she had asked, voice barely a whisper. And I had had to reassure her, promise her it would be okay. Neither of us believed it, but somehow, we had to keep saying it. It became our mantra. It would be okay. We would get out. It may take a while, but we will get out.

No one came for us that night, when we realised that temperatures dropped rapidly in our prison at nightfall. Neither did they come the next day, when hunger pains began to cramp our stomachs. By the third day with no food, we were doubled over; pangs of the gnawing hunger seizing us. But it wasn't the hunger that scared me, terrified me even. The need to drink parched our throats, rendering us speechless. It was the desperate raw need to drink that led us to the damp stone walls, licking moisture off of the slabs encasing us. It was the fourth day that a flask of water was tossed in with us, and two stale loafs of bread. By then, we may have lost dignity, but we had not lost our humanity. We would not fight over this, no matter how much we desperately needed it; the unspoken agreement was made, but would be diplomatic about this. Carefully splitting one of the two rolls in half, we devoured it, putting the other on the side, in case we did not get more. The water we drank with alternating sips, her, then me, her then me.

We stayed in our cell, uncertain to what would happen. Her arms wrapped around my waist, we curled up into a ball. I told her the stories my mother used to tell me when I was small, and she sang me the lullabies she had been sung as a baby. She told me when she had a child; she would teach it the songs, that she would make sure that the soft crooning songs would stay in her family. When I ran out of fairy tales, I moved on to the tales I wove in my head. By the time the week was over, I knew nearly everything about that girl, and she knew nearly everything about me.

They came back for us one night. I don't know whether the wait was part of their torture or not. Either way, it could have been.

They interrogated us separately. Ami was taken away first, leaving me in the cell alone. Time passed, and then they returned for me. They had not brought back Ami, and I felt sick, to the pit of my stomach, with worry for her. There were three men, two of which seized my upper arms and dragged me behind them, the other making sure I didn't escape. The humour of the situation amused me, that these three strong able guards were needed to maintain and control me, who had not eaten properly for over a week, weak with fatigue. They took me into another room, almost identical to the one I was in beforehand. I was sat down on a chair, and someone sat down opposite me. He leant forward, and began questioning me.

I guess that these men had gotten to the point where they believed the Geneva Convention did not apply to them. Or at least I assumed that, as nothing they did followed the rules. They did not treat Ami so ruthlessly, and I was glad of that. There was no explanation to why I was treated worse, although it was pretty clear it was something to do with the fact that Ami was a regular soldier and I was a spy. These people hated me for what I had done, and the amount of information I had discovered, and it showed in the pleasure they got out of torturing me, without the clinical precision I had seen before they had discovered that.

I remember on the first night after the questioning, Ami had sobbed, distraught over me. I had bruises blossoming over my arms and legs, along with cuts and slashes. To my relief, Ami was relatively unscathed. She had broken down, she had told me, too terrified to do anything but tell them what she knew. I did not care, and spent the rest of the night trying to convince her of that fact. She shouldn't be hurt, and surrendering information would protect her, if only marginally. My logic was flawed, seeing as I was determined not to tell anyone what I knew, but I held far too many secrets to share with these people.

They took me apart, piece after piece over those months. I was like a broken machine, no longer properly functioning, only just living. They continued to question Ami on anything she knew, and whether she would be able to get me to talk, but I would not. Whenever our captors were around, we would pretend to hate each other. If Ami was not important or remotely liked by me, then I would not give up any information for her safety. It worked, and not once was Ami threatened to get me to talk. But days and weeks and months went by, and we were still there, still hurting, still being taken apart, bit by bit.

It has been a while now. A long while. I press my face against the cool stone of the cell wall. I am so tired. This place is wearing me down, slowly. Only recently it hasn't been so slowly. I am exhausted, always, and my entire body aches. The inlaid slabs of rock are very cold against my hot cheek. I miss my mother.

**Hey guys. I hope you all liked the background on Grace. In response to a couple of reviews from you all, yes I only realised after what a popular name Grace was. By that time, I had already started writing this character, and I couldn't think of her as anything but Grace. So sorry, y'all! I am so sorry I haven't updated for a while, end of term exams suddenly happened, and I didn't have a free second I wasn't eating revising working and sleeping. And I have been doing a lot of the last one. Again, I hope you all liked it, and please review. It was great hearing from all that did review last time, and those who reviewed and don't have a fanfic account, get one, as I really wanted to reply to you and couldn't! :-( (Hint hint, Lily, who raised a valid point, and I couldn't answer. Btw, no, they haven't I guess people just like the name.) Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I have always loved fairy tales. I never care whether they are the clichéd prince meets princess, saves her and rushes her away to a happy ending, or the beautiful elegant folktales, with faery queens enticing mortal men into their kingdoms. My favourites were the Irish tales, with Selkies and faeries, which ended in tragedy, or the Greek myths, with sirens and enchantresses. The beautiful stories woven by Hans Christian Anderson and the Brothers Grimm fascinated me and terrified me equally as a child. The dark twisted tales seemed too violent and cruel for children, but were accepted all around the globe as a bedtime story. The Disney renditions of all these tales were pale and fake beside the written version. I remember being completely distraught the first time I read the little mermaid. It was only later I realised the true beauty of the story. I still cry when I read it. I long for my leather bound books containing my other worlds. Even now I can't help dreaming up new stories. Every night I tell Ami another story, one I make up myself. All my stories have a happy ending. We've had enough sad ones for now. Neither of us needs more sadness. I cannot help myself from dreaming up my fairy tale for me and Ami. The handsome prince will come and rescue me from my prison. He will sweep me of my feet, and fight his way out past the dragon. He will place me on his horse and we will ride off into the sunset. Before our little figures disappear into the setting sun, I will turn, to see Ami behind me with her prince. Appeased, I will turn back and wrap my arms around my prince's waist. The final page will turn, leaving me at the happy ever after I have waited so long for. Of course, life is not always that perfect.

There is a pounding in my head. Each beat of my heart sends a throb through my head, and it echoes in my ears. This acute headache is not new to me, although I have not had them in a while. It is the worst it has ever been. I hope I am not sick with something, and just not recognising the symptoms. Ami thinks it is probably just dehydration. She keeps trying to give me her water, but I won't take it. She has to stay strong.

I catch sight of my reflection in a puddle of water that collects by the narrow window. My hair is long and matted, hanging limply down my back. The once coppery flames have dulled, fading along with my determination to keep fighting. I shake my hair back, trying to regain my old indifference, but the flames splutter, a dying candle in my airless prison. I have shrunk, my body wasting into nothing. My mother used to tell me to eat my food, that I was "wasting away." I wonder what she would have said to me now, the embodiment of the phrase. I am something you see in horror films, and disturbing documentaries, or posters and advert campaigns raising money for The Starving People of Africa. It is almost funny, in a twisted way, how in the attempt to raise awareness for people in need, somehow we dehumanise them, giving every poverty stricken person a label, and a stereotype. If you are an African person without the sufficient food and shelter, you become The Starving People of Africa. Human beings tend to do that, and in a similar way, people who are between fourteen and eighteen are teenagers, liable to riot and cause trouble. And Ami and I are "poor victims of the war effort", weak and pitiable, and if we ever escape, we will be revered for putting ourselves at risk for fighting for something we believe in, yet terrorists, who do exactly that, but in different circumstances, are feared, unless they succeed. Of course, it all comes down to who is telling the story.

My eyes are huge in my face, my pupils swimming in the huge saucers. My face seems to have shrunk, leaving only my eyes behind. Even they seem dim, the light missing from the dull brown irises. This makes me sad. My eyes used to be my best feature, a rich chocolate brown, a mix between the colour of a galaxy, and a high quality plain chocolate bar you would buy from an expensive shop. Thinking about it, they are probably still my best feature, even though they have lost all colour and vitality, as all my other features have wasted away.

There is a clatter at the door. Our food has been delivered, through the metal grate in the door. Even though I am starving, literally, I do not want to eat. I am not hungry, despite my empty stomach. Ami looks at me, her hollow eyes pleading.

"Please eat. Please Grace. Don't leave me yet. I-I couldn't bear it if you died." Her voice breaks, her face miserable. I try, for her.

The bread is stale and hard. I choke it down, but have to stop as nausea rises up in my stomach. I place it in her hand, and she looks at me. She is torn, I can see. Her stomach rumbles, fighting her deliberation.

"Take it. Please. I can't..."

She looks at me for a while, before nodding, and taking it. She rips a chunk off with her teeth, and even that makes the nausea rise again. We sit in silence for a while. We used to talk all the time, but neither of us can summon up the energy anymore. We simply take comfort from each other's presence. The silence is penetrated by the occasional wail of misery and pain. The stone corridors channel sound down them. We hear everything. It's awful.

The guards' footsteps down the corridor echo, treating an ominous path towards our cell. The clang of the door certifies that we are their reason to be down this end of the underground warren of cells. They walk in, squaring up to us. Both Ami and I shrink back, unconsciously. It is all about animal instincts here. They are the dominant beings here, and make sure we know it by looming over us. In return, we both show our submission by making ourselves smaller. The younger guard is new here. I can tell by his shocked look when he sees us. We have been here a long time, as I refuse to share information, and Ami could prove to be good bargaining power with our military. Besides her knowledge on the arms our army uses is valuable. The further you get into the labyrinth of passageways, the longer the prisoners inhabiting the cells have been here for gets. We have nowhere near been here the longest, but it's been pretty damn long.

His face is rounded, clearly young. I smile up at him tentatively, and he smirks back. He is regaining his composure. The people who work here are not all bad people, although the majority are. Some are just supporting their country in the way they can. The second guard is an older, portly man. In front of other guards he is cruel and unrelentless, but alone he does his best to ease our suffering. He once told me, in broken English, that I reminded him of his granddaughter; stubborn and determined.

"You, up," he barks, pointing at me. I slowly rise to my feet, using the wall to aid me. My joints are stiff and painful, most likely from the beatings and other means of torture that have been inflicted on me, along with sleeping on a stone floor for over two months. I stagger slightly and am caught by the younger one. He releases my arm, twisting it slightly. I smile, flirtatiously at him. He leers back at me. He disgusts me and I know he will be the one carrying out my punishments, but every slight affection in this place in a slightly bigger chance I will one day leave this place.

He takes my arm, and stout-and-portly leads the way out the cell. We follow after him, me taking care to tread on Ami's fingers on the way. It has been a while since we have done anything to each other, and I have to keep the act up. She hisses in pain, and young-and-smug smirks. Apparently we are a source of amusement to the prison guards. I am lead down the passageway, into the interrogation room. I am pushed into the chair. He enters. When I refused to surrender any information, He was called. I am a spy, and the information I hold could be the grenade that wins the war. He is the interrogator that can get anyone to confess. How very embarrassing that a small twenty two year old, ill girl from Minnesota is the one person who he can't get to talk. The mere sight of him leads me to shake, little tremors running the length of my body. This gives him great satisfaction. It is kind of sad that we have reached the point where the mere fact I am scared of him makes him proud.

They begin with the small questions. I have told them absolutely nothing, and the only information they have from me is from Ami. She hasn't told them much about me, pretending she doesn't know. This is plausible, as we claim to hate each other.

"How old are you?" He starts by asking. They ask every session, testing me, to see whether I will break. I say nothing. He inclines his head, and continues.

"What was your assignment you were given to carry out in Shinkay?"

When I say nothing, He indicates to someone behind me. Young-and-smug steps forward. I am being held down by another guard, so I cannot tell what he is going to do. He rolls up my tattered sleeve, revealing my painfully thin forearm. The pale skin is littered with violent red scars, like the rest of my body. I gulp, terrified. He carries a soldering iron in one hand. A little light on the side indicates it is on. The hands holding me down tighten in anticipation, and I close my eyes. When the heated metal presses against my arm, I bite back a muffled scream, but I cannot stop it fully, and it echoes around the room. He repeats the question, and when I still do not answer, the iron again makes contact with my skin. After a while, they try something else.

"What missions had you previously worked on?"

This time it is a cattle prod against my stomach. My screams ring out down the corridor.

When they have finished interrogating me, they drag me back down the corridor. My legs will no longer carry my weight. Young-and-smug has an arm around my waist, squeezing the skin where my injuries are. I have no doubt he will have no difficulties fitting in with this new life. A girl standing in a cell catches my eye. She is pacing, back and forth, like a caged tiger. Her long glossy auburn hair streams behind her. When we pass her, she stops, and we exchange glances. It is one of comradeship, of defiance and of promise. Neither of us has caved to their demands, and neither of us are going to anytime soon. I smile weakly at her, and she flashes me a brilliant one back. And then I am dragged of, and she is gone.

When we reach my cell, he does not open the door, but stops. Slamming me against the wall, he forces a sloppy kiss on my lips. I struggle to escape, but Young-and-smug is over a head taller than me, and any muscle I once had is gone, wasted away with the rest of me. He is pinning me against the wall, pressing against me. Tears stream down my face, mixing into the crush of lips. He notices it, but it seems to amuse him. Desperate, I wriggle and fight. I won't let it happen. Jerking up a knee, I send him into a ball on the floor. Older brothers have taught me something at least. Terrified of what I have done, I turn to run into the cell, but he grabs my ankle and sends me crashing to the floor. He is furious now, and I am scared for my life. He grabs my hair, and drags me into the cell. Ami backs into a corner, like a beaten dog.

He begins hitting me, furious blows raining down onto my back. I lay on the floor, taking it. Ami looks ready to rush forward, but I stop her with a look. She could possibly stop it now, but he would get more guards, and it would have been for nothing. Only one of us need get hurt. He sits on me, and lights a cigarette. When he bores of having me at his mercy, he finishes smoking the cigarette, and puts it out on my hand. I let out a little whimper, but nothing more. I will not scare Ami more than she had to be. I bite my lip after that, determined not to make a sound no matter what he does.

When he has finished with me, he leaves with a strut in his step. Both Ami and I lay silent, in shock for a while. I feel sick, violated. Slowly I drag myself over to the corner furthest from the door. There is a pile of straw bedding on the floor, and I bury my face in it, hiding.

After a long while, Ami speaks, her voice quiet. "Was that the first time that has happened?"

I stay silent. There is a long pause before I answer back. "No."

There is a longer pause, while she digests this. Suddenly her arms wrap around me. I flinch away from the contact, but relax again. It's just Ami. She is crying softly against my shoulder. Her words are garbled, but I can make them out.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She has nothing to be sorry for. The men who have abused and defiled us were the ones that should be sorry. I simply shake my head. She knows what I mean. She lies with her arms around me for a while longer, before crawling away from me. She knows I need space, and we can't be caught together. For her safety, she moves closer to the door. I hear her little intakes of breath, as she cries. I wish that I had not fought him, that I had let him do what he wanted outside the cell. The only thing fighting him accomplished was scaring Ami. It was not like it had stopped him doing what he was going to do, but simply made him angrier. I curl further into a ball, and hide my face.

* * *

Days pass. They do not come for either of us, and we would have thought they'd forgotten us, apart from the food they posted daily through the door. Ami and I have both recovered from the previous days, but I am sure, like everything, this would leave a scar on our hearts. Night fell. We lie across the room from each other. Ami's light breathing is lulling me towards sleep when she says, "Grace? Will we ever get out of here?" Her breathing hitches on the ever, and my heart aches. She had asked when we would get out before, often every night for the first weeks we were in this prison, but it had been a while. I don't want to lie to her, but I want to make her happy.

"I don't know Ami. I really hope so. I really, really hope so."

There is quiet for a while. Then, "Grace, tell me a story?" she asks, her voice small and childlike.

I oblige. "Once upon a time, there lived a young woman. She was beautiful. She had creamy skin, and deep blue eyes. Her hair was like an inferno, or a blaze of fire. Her mother looked after her alone, as her father had died at a young age. However, when she was eleven, her mother fell in love with a young man, and married him. The man was sweet, and loved his step daughter as his own. Her mother and stepfather were blessed with love at first sight, and loved each other greatly. They told their daughter one day she would find someone who was her perfect other half, her soulmate. The girl dreamt of this person, who she was told she would know was the perfect person at first sight.

Now this girl and her family were special. They had magic in their blood, and each had a power. When this girl met her soulmate, he too would have a power. However, the girl went traveling around the world. When on her travels, she encountered many adventures, where she fought battles, and climbed mountains. She won every fight, until she met him. He had sandy blond hair, and deep brown eyes, the colour of chocolate. She fell deeply in love with this brave adventurer. As much as she tried to fight it, she could not defeat the fierce beast that was love.

The problem was that he was not her soulmate. He did not have the powers that her family had, and so could never be what her parents had. However, as she got to know this adventurer, she realised that there is more than one kind of soulmate. There is the perfect piece to your puzzle she had seen, or there was her soulmate. He was different from her in many ways, and they did not see eye to eye on many things, but somehow, that made her love him more. She and her brave adventurer got married, and a year later, they had a child. It was a little girl, which they named Patience, after the patience they would need for their love. Because they may not have been perfect for each other, but their love was. Whenever they might have needed patience, they would think of their daughter, and she would remind them of everything good in their life. And life did have its ups and downs, but even if they lost everything else in their life, at least they still had each other."

My throat closes up, clogged with tears. The thought of my parents makes me cry, and telling their story as a fairy tale made me realise how perfect their love had been. The last line of the story made me feel like my heart was breaking. Because they didn't still have each other, because at the end of a happy ever after, life goes on. And when life went on, things could happen.

Ami speaks, her voice quiet. "Thank you Grace. That was beautiful. It-" she stops abruptly. There are shouts echoing down the corridor, and the firing of guns. I beckon her towards me, but before she can crawl over to me, the door is flung open.

A tall man stands in the opening. He looks Hispanic, long hair tied back into a ponytail. He is breathing hard with exertion, gun held in his hand. Panic tightens in my chest. Is he coming to kill us? He isn't wearing the uniform the guards were wearing, but that could be a trick. He blinks slightly, his eyes adjusting to the dark. Shouts were ringing out down the hall. He speaks, his voice deep and rich.

"Hello?"

_…And the princess had been imprisoned in a prison by the evil sorcerer. She was told she would live there forever. One day a prince was riding by, when he noticed the prison. He rushed into the prison, and battled the sorcerer. When he had defeated the sorcerer, he entered the room where the princess was being kept. He saw the princess, and was overcome with emotion. Going down onto one knee, he knelt before the princess, and took her hand in his._

The young man sees his princess, and rushes to her side. He kneels down and takes her hand. His face is shocked by her state. Looking into her face, he asks her tenderly, "Are you okay?"

She smiles weakly, skin slightly pinker than usual. "I'm fine."

He takes her arm, and helps her up, gently. It is a quiet moment, a moving one. One day, it might be looked back on with fondness, as the best moment ever, a beautiful moment in life. It was something I had always dreamed of, and from the moment I had seen this man, my heart had done a little flutter. This interaction pulls on my heart, and my face pulls into a little smile. But it isn't a happy smile, but a bitter one. This moment of prince meets princess was a moment I wanted dearly. But it isn't mine.

The tall man gently helps Ami to stand. She sways slightly, a blush still on her olive toned skin. He smiles warmly at her.

"I'm Victor," he says softly. "C'mon, we need to go. We took out those guys who were keeping you here, but they might have called for backup. We need to go."

He takes her hand, and tugs her towards the door. She follows him and is about to walk out the door, when she pauses. I lie, unable to talk, in the corner. My bones ache, and I am so tired. The fatigue that envelops my body urges me to stay where I am, to give up.

"Oh, wait! Oh my God, I can't believe I forgot! My friend Grace. We need to help her," Ami is saying, her voice high with shock, I guess that she had been about to walk out without me.

Victor speaks again. He has an American accent, I muse. It is nice, soothing. "We're evacuating the entire prison. If she's in here, she'll get out. I have to warn you, we have seen lots of fatalities. You might need to prepare yourself-"

He is cut off by Ami again. "No, no, she's alive. She's here, in my cell."

I can see shapes moving, casting dancing patterns of shadows across the walls. There is a shadow leaning over me.

"I'm so sorry Grace. I can't believe I was about to leave you," Ami says, voice pained.

I can't let Ami hurt, no matter how upset I might be. No matter if I want to go to sleep and never wake up. I have to stay awake for Ami.

I try to sit up, but catch myself swaying. I feel sick, and have to lie back down again. "S'okay Ami. You've been kept in a cell for two months. You're allowed to be scatty when given a chance to escape."

I hear Victor suck in a breath at the time we've been in here. Another man rushes into our cell. He has blond hair, a big contrast to the dark haired Victor.

"Hey Vic, c'mon, we need to go. You ready?"

Victor stands, scooping up Ami into his arms. He turns to the new man. "Hey, Gavin man, I need you to carry her out. I don't think she can stand."

Gavin smiles gently at me. He bends to pick me up, and I flinch involuntarily at his touch. I blush, embarrassed. Ami glances over at me. "It's okay Grace. Remember, it's fine."

I feel Victor and Gavin giving us curious looks, but I ignore them, and let Gavin pick me up. He cradles me against his chest. Then we are running along the passageways, the sounds of other soldiers joining us, bringing other prisoners. I hold my hands out slightly from my body, lessening the gravity for Victor and Ami. I can hear the shouts of the guards behind us, and I know the backup must have arrived. If Victor trips, he and Ami will both be caught. I can't let that happen.

Then we are out. The cold air on my face is the best thing I have ever felt. I feel myself sobbing, tears pouring down my face. By the sound of it, most other prisoners are doing the same thing.

If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend it's someone else's arms around me, someone else holding me to their chest. Almost.

**Hey guys, I hope you all liked it. I hope the spelling and grammar is okay, etc. I'm sorry this took such a long time to be updated; I found it quite difficult to write. Please review, tell me if you like/ don't like, whatever, just review. Thanks to sevenofdiamonds, butterflylion14 and kitty0017 for reviewing the last chapter. Love you guys!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

My eyelids feel weighed down with lead. I am laying on my back, in an uncomfortable position. I always sleep on my side, no matter the circumstances. Why am I laying like this? I try and turn to my side, but I cannot move. There is a dull pain in my hand. Prising open my eyes, I blink furiously at the bright florescent lights over me. Slowly my eyes adjust to the bright light, and I begin to take in my surroundings. The ceiling is tiled in rubbery squares. The four walls are whitewashed. Everything seems a bright clinical white here. There is a bedside table next to me, bare except for a vase of flowers and a glass of water. It is a large room, and there is another bed occupying the space. On the bed sits Ami, head bent over a book. She is wearing a hospital gown, with laces tying it at the back. Next to her is another bedside table, hers littered with get-well cards and gifts. Her bed is pushed close to the window, and through it streams bright sunlight. It had been so long since I have seen the outside. My heart beats faster, rejoicing over this freedom.

I look down at myself. I too am wearing a hospital gown, white with small green circles emblazoned across it. The sheets of the bed are crisp, and white, uncomfortably perfect. In my hand is a shaft giving doctors easy access if they need to administer medicines straight into my bloodstream. The tape is shiny, and catches the light. My skin underneath it itches slightly, prickling. Gauze bandages are wrapped around my wounds, and I feel like a mummy. The chafing underneath the gown tells me there is more gauze around my stomach and legs. Internally I curse my prisoners for what they have turned me into. A broken ragdoll, her stuffing escaping.

I try to move into a more comfy position, but the simple action of adjusting my head sends a sharp pain through my spine, and forces a gasp from my lips. Ami jumps, head snapping up. Seeing me, her face breaks into a sunny smile. I smile back at her, slightly warily. I am still incredibly disorientated, and I don't know how we got here. Did they move us last night? Have we done something wrong? Fear sends my heart level spiking and I feel myself shaking at the thought they might have come up with a new strategy to get me to talk.

Ami opens her mouth to speak but before she can, the door swings open. Adrenaline rushes through me and I send the vase flying through the air at the person who has just entered. He is knocked out the way by the man who entered behind him. The vase hits the wall and smashes harmlessly. I realise I am on my feet, crouched in a defensive position on the bed. I grit my teeth, annoyed that I did not hit the intruder. _I'm slipping_, I tell myself. I never miss.

I snatch up the glass of water, readying myself for a possible counter attack, and glance at the men who entered the room. They are both staring at me with looks of shock across their faces. My eyes immediately catch on the man who had pulled his comrade out of the way of my attack. Normally, the fact that he had deflected my attack would have irked me, but this man fascinates me. He is the man who rescued us from the prison. And then everything comes rushing back to me. We're free. We're free.

My knees give out from underneath me, and I fall back onto the bed. I am crying hysterically into my hands, trying to muffle them. My cheeks are burning with humiliation. First I attack the men who rescued me and Ami, and now I, Grace Sparrow, who never cries, especially in front of people, am crying in front of him? God!

Ami's arm is around my shoulder, and she is whispering comforts.

"What's the matter Grace? What happened?"

I turn to her, my eyes shining. "We are free Ami. Free." And I throw my arms around her neck, sobbing harder. She echoes my sobs, both of us with dawning realisation. I am the first to recover.

Gently prising her arms from around my neck, I turn to the men still standing frozen by the doorway. I doubt either of them are exposed to hormonal women's outbursts. I silently chide myself for stereotyping. And I definitely don't usually have outbursts, hormonal or not. It must be him doing it to me.

I smooth my hair down with one hand, steading myself against the bed with the other.

"I apologise for that Mr…?" I say, coolly, trying to regain my composure. I glance from one to the other, my eyebrows raised.

"Benedict," the second man informs me. The handsome, chivalrous- stop it, stop it! "Victor Benedict. This is Gavin Stonehouse."

I flash a small smile at the Gavin. "I sincerely apologise for that incident, Mr Stonehouse."

He looks slightly dazed, but murmurs his acceptance. Ignoring this, I turn back to Victor Benedict. I had heard that name before… yes! The Benedicts were high in the savant net. Victor was the FBI agent. I looked at him with squinted eyes. Did he know I was a savant? He was practically the leader of the savant net. Of course he did.

"So, agents, how can we help you?" I ask. Puzzlement flashes across their faces, and they both exchange looks, but neither say anything. Oh, wait, had they told me they were with the FBI? Crap. I hope Victor could explain that to Gavin.

Victor speaks. "Well, we do need to ask you some questions. We have already spoken to Miss Jacobs, and we need to clarify a couple of things. But really we came to see how you and Ami were."

The way he says Ami's name makes my heart sink. He sounds like an infatuated teenage boy, his lips upturned slightly. He says her name with a smile. I glance at her, and she is looking back at him with a little smile across her face. Pain lances across my chest.

I don't question why I am grieving over the relationship between my best friend and the boy I had met once before. The ridiculous crush I have on him was exactly that, a ridiculous crush, but I do not doubt the fact that I really like him. In the forefront of my mind, there is a little voice telling me how stupid I am being, but the entire rest of my head is internalising about why he like Ami so much.

I shake my head slightly to clear it. Forcing the thought out of my head, I focus on the only voice of reason in my head. _Stupid, stupid_, I tell myself. So why does it feel like I am lying to myself?

"Well, go ahead. Ask me questions," I instruct them. My voice is harder and more bitter now. The two men exchange glances and then both sit down. It seems I unnerve them slightly.

Gavin speaks. "Well, normally we would carry these out in private…" he begins, but I cut him off.

"But you don't need to do that, as Ami and I share everything. Being together in a cell for two months tends to do that to you. Very considerate of you," I snap.

"Grace," Ami hisses, probably embarrassed of how I am behaving in front of Victor. I don't really care.

"Quite right," Victor says, regaining his composure. I am quite impressed with him. First he deflects my assault on Gavin with the vase, and he doesn't let me faze him. I guess there is always a first. He had a face he puts on when I unnerve him. It is business like, a calm mask over whatever reaction he is having. It seems perfectly practised, easily slipped on and off. Is it his usual expression?

"Right…so can you tell me…um…about…"

How cute. I seem to have scared poor little Gavin. I feel kinda bad. He didn't really do anything to me. I'm just in a bad mood. I smile at him reassuringly.

"How about I tell you about me, and we'll go from there?"

He is a bit like a little puppy. His eyes brighten and he beams at me, nodding.

"Well, I was born and raised in Minnesota, in a small town near Fairmont. I have two brothers and a sister. My mother died when I was little, and so my father raised us. I joined the army at nineteen. I was part of the ISA, the intelligence support activity to those who don't know. Just over two months ago, I was put on a mission with Ami and several other members. I was to find out vital information about the leaders of the resistance movement in Shinkay. I had collected about half of the information, when we were captured. The atmosphere had changed, and we were instructed to do as much more as we could and leave within the next week. In a final ditch effort, I managed to collect the rest of the information, and was leaving. However, by doing so I raised suspicion and collected a trail. I thought I had lost it, but it turned out I hadn't. I had met up with Ami when they launched a full blown attack on us. We would have left, but I stupidly messed it up. There was a citizen in the crossfire, and I turned back to help them. In doing so, they bombed the ground in front of us, and while we were recovering from the blast they captured us," I recite in a bored tone. Saying it out loud makes me realise how much at fault I was for getting me and Ami captured.

Ami is about to interject, but I give her a look, and she stops. Patience once told me I gave death looks, and no one short of Rowan would cross me when I did. I had used them pretty effectively in the ISA. It was one of the ways I climbed ranks, and how I was such an effective spy. If you give someone a really dirty look when they suggest you are someone other than who you claim to be, they shut up pretty damn quickly.

Victor leans forward. "The ISA? What specifically did you do?"

"I can't tell you exactly what kind of missions I have taken part in, but let's just say I was a kick ass spy." I'm not bragging. Well I am, but it _is_ true.

Apparently Victor believes I am boasting as he raises an eyebrow. I roll my eyes and lay back on the bed, eyes closed.

"It's true. She was one kickass spy. My best agent, I would go as far to say," a voice states from the doorway. I tense, and I can hear the scraping of chairs as Victor prepares to block any flying missiles I might throw. But I'm not going to. I recognise this voice.

Footsteps make their way into the room.

"Soldier Jacobs," I hear him address Ami.

"General Jamison," she replies, voice quiet.

I open my eyes. He nods to Victor and Gavin, and they both nod back respectfully. He is looking at me, a smile on his face.

Lazily, I sit up and stretch. "Well, Birdy, do I get a hug?" he asks me, still grinning.

It is all I need to launch myself of the bed into his arms. He swings me around, before placing me carefully down onto my feet. He looks at me for a second, evaluating.

"Well no offence Birdy, but you look like shit."

I roll my eyes. "Gee, thanks a lot. Glad to see you too."

He chuckles, and ruffles my hair. I duck, before going back for another hug. "God I missed you Jamie."

"Yeah, me too," he tells me softly. He breaks out into a grin again. "And I see the old nickname is still in place?"

"Well, I'm only going to return the favour. Can't make it look like you're the only poor bastard without a nickname. We're in the army for Christs sake."

Jamie was officially my superior, although he never acted like that to me. When I had beaten him in training, he had told me I deserved his wonderful friendship, and I needed a nickname if I was to fore fill that role. And so I became Birdy, as my last name was Sparrow, and he became Jamie, after Jamison. Well, I was never that original.

I sneak a look at Victor. He looks mildly shocked I'm on nickname terms with the General of the Intelligence Support Activity. I lead Jamie over to a chair, and jump back onto the bed.

Jamie looks at me, and then at the two FBI agents.

"Well, shall we continue? I'm not here to interrupt, just to see little Birdy here."

I look at Victor, and he glances down at his notes. "Right, so your arrest. You had been captured."

Ami speaks, her voice timid. "Can I just say that Grace said that she tried to rescue a civilian from the crossfire. I just want to emphasise that it was a little boy. If she hadn't turned back, he would have most likely died."

Victor looks at her with admiration, for speaking up for her friend, in his eyes. I feel irritation rise in me.

"Yeah, but it isn't like it worked. He may have died anyway, and we lost all the files that could have turned the tides in our favour. All the work and danger was for nothing because I made a stupid mistake," I bark.

Jamie is looking at me with confusion in his eyes. "Didn't anyone tell you? We got Shinkay, probably because of the information you collected. Don't look so shocked love. You did good." He squeezes my hand reassuringly.

I am silent, processing. For some reason, my mind jumps to the girl I had seen in the cell. Then, abruptly, I turn to Victor. "Did you get everyone out? From the prison?"

His mouth twists slightly. "Most. A couple didn't make it, or fell behind and were caught."

I nod, processing. "And the ones that did get out? Where are they?"

"Most are in this hospital, or the next over. It depends on their situation in the prison."

I nod thoughtfully. "OK." I don't elaborate, but leave it.

Jamie shakes himself. "If it's okay with you, I'd like to ask something." I nod, and Victor gestures at him to do so.

"When you were being questioned, how much did you tell them? If it is in their records, then we need to be prepared."

I sit up straight, and raise my chin. "Nothing," I announce, proud.

He smiles gently. "Listen, it's okay that you did. You are expected to put yourself first. Anyone in that situation would. We need to know every little detail. I know you didn't tell them much but everything is important."

I shake my head. Ami speaks. "She didn't say anything. I did. I told them quite a bit, which I've already told Victor. But Grace didn't." When they still look disbelieving, she tells me, "Grace, show them your arms."

I oblige, holding out my arms. Jamie lets out a little hiss, and both Gavin and Victor have identical frozen expressions. I've grown used to the scars littering my arms, but I squint my eyes, trying to look at them with the same eyes they are. My skin has always been very pale, bordering on translucent, and the scars look even worse than they would on others. They are angry red marks, no longer painful, but a constant reminder of my ordeal. I wear my past on my arms.

"Shit, Birdy," Jamie says under his breath. With one finger, I brush a triangular mark with a forefinger. "The triangular ones are from the soldering iron. They used that to try to get me to talk." I then point to the most recent, the cigarette burn from Young-and-smug. "The circular burns are cigarette burns. They hated me there. I was a spy, and I wouldn't tell them anything. They used to put their cigarettes out on me, out of spite."

I send an amused glance at Ami, tilting my head towards the three men around my bed, and mimicking their expressions. She giggles.

I clap my hands together. "Right, are we done here?"

* * *

Ami is giggling with Victor. He is sitting on her bed, their heads very close together. I need to get out. I stand. "I'm gonna go for a walk."

They barely glance up. I walk out, using the walk to support me. My joints are still stiff, and I am exhausted. I walk down the corridors. My shoes squeak on the plastic floor. There is barely anyone here, and nobody questions where I'm going. I wander around, not paying attention to where I am. I wonder why Victor likes Am so much more than me. Logically it makes sense. She is sweet, and kind, and gentle. She is also ten times prettier than me. I am not one of those girls who thinks she's ugly, and refuses to take compliments from anyone. I know that I am pretty, even if it is in an unconventional way. My mother was beautiful, and I am not as pretty as she was, but I did inherit her good looks. But compared to Ami, I am hideous. Ami has long tanned legs, and shoulder length blond hair. I am taller than her, but she possesses the space in a way I never could. She is one of those people who look golden, like they have the sun harnessed inside them. Her features are all perfectly symmetrical, small and cute. She could have stepped out a magazine, alongside all the airbrushed models. No wonder Victor likes her more. But still, I am asking, why her?

I decide to turn back. I walk back along, past identical wards, and identical beds. I reach a door I believe is the entrance and walk in, only to find someone else in what should be my bed. It is the girl from the cell. She smiles at me, and I smile back. I walk over to her bed, and sit down. We sit in silence for a while.

She breaks the silence, tossing her auburn hair over her shoulder. "Ivy."

"Grace," I reply. We sit again in silence. It isn't awkward, but nice. She speaks again.

"They wanted to know where the base was."

"They wanted me to tell them what I was doing in Shinkay."

She laughs lightly. "You're better than I was."

"No, I've just had determination drummed into me from a young age."

"Oh, ok. Well, well done anyway."

"You too."

* * *

It is relaxing being with her. She knows what pain is, and what it's like to fight. We would have been good friends. She sits, her knees touching mine. "Soldering iron, beatings, scalpel, an assortment of electric shocks, drowning… the list goes on."  
"Yep, I got all them. Not that creative, or original, huh?"

It's funny the secret code women have created.

Ivy leans forward. "Were you…"  
"Yeah. …You?"  
"Yeah. Have you found out whether you're…"  
"Oh, God! I hadn't thought… but no. I've had…"  
"I am. Good thing about being in hospital, you can be given an almost definite."  
"Shit Ivy, I'm sorry."

She sighs, a heartfelt heave of breath. "Yeah, me too."  
"Are you gonna have…?"

"I've thought about it. I don't think so. I think I love it already. It's mine, and I don't care how it was conceived. I love it." She gives a little shocked laugh. "I love it."

I smile at her. "Promise me that you'll stay in touch. I want to meet my new godson/goddaughter."  
She smiles back. "Presumptuous much?"  
"Yup, that's me."

* * *

When I get back to my room, Victor is gone. I collapse on my bed, tired. I am secretly relieved that he is gone. It is hard to pretend I don't care he is so obviously into my best friend. Ami smiles at me. "Victor gave me this," she says, handing me a slim mobile phone. "D'you wanna call your family?"

It felt like ice water was flooding my veins. My family. They must be insane with worry. I looked at Ami with wide eyes.

She chuckles. "Yeah, I forgot too. Victor was pretty alarmed when I started freaking out when he asked me." _I bet he was_. "He thought my parents were dead or something," she laughs.

_Well wouldn't that be awful. Not like either of my parents are dead or anything_. I bite my lip. I'm not usually this catty. It's not really catty, more bitter. Not like that's any better. And Ami didn't mean it nastily. She didn't think. She probably doesn't even remember my mom died. Why should she tread eggshells around me?

She flops backwards on her bed. She is quiet for a minute, deep in thought. The room is dark, the light outside fading. I can hear Ami turn towards me. "I really like him Grace. Really, really like him."

Her voice is small and vulnerable, and I feel myself soften. She doesn't know I like Victor, and even if she did, why would I get him and not her? I smile at her, and I can see her smile back, hazy in the dim light.

"I can tell."

She gasps, and giggles. "Oh God! Is it really that obvious? Do you think he knows?"

"It doesn't matter if he does. It's pretty clear he likes you too."

She shushes me, but I can tell she's exuberantly happy. Its sweet. I wouldn't guess this is her first crush, but it's her first serious one. She looks deep in thought, her forehead creasing.

"Careful, you'll give yourself a brain haemorrhage if you keep up that effort. Then I'd have to tell your parents. Urgh, too much effort!"

"He-ey, meanie," she whines, sticking out her bottom lip. "Oh, I was supposed to tell you, the doctor wants to talk to you tomorrow. Something about your tests?"

I pull a face at her, sticking out my tongue. "Doctors. What can you do? They worry almost as much as you."

She throws a pillow at me. "Idiot! Are you going to call your family? C'mon, they'll worry."

I sigh. This is going to be a long night. I turn on the lamp by my bed, before standing up, and stretching. My hospital gown strings pull apart a little, the back opening slightly. Ami sucks in a breath.

"Those bastards. They look really painful."  
"Huh?" I say, bewildered.

"The bruises on your back. They look sore." She stands behind me, her cool fingers brushing my spine. "Poor you."

I feel myself freezing, and a tremor passes down my back. "Be back in a sec," I choke out, and I run out the door, down the corridor. My bare feet squeak on the plastic floor, sending me skidding as I turn the corners. I reach the bathroom, and I slam open the door.

It is wide, with a big mirror set into the wall. There is a red cord hanging from the ceiling, for anyone who has trouble, or gets stuck in here. I click the door shut, and lean against it. My hands are shaking as I undo the ties across my back. I let the gown fall to my waist, and crane my neck, trying to see my back. There is a scattering of vivid purple bruises smeared down the length of my protruding spine. They look like fungus or some other kind of growth blossoming across my back.

I reach back and poke one with my fingertips. The pain shoots up my back. They look like an average bruise. _Please let them be_. But I can't help but wonder… my other bruises looked like average bruises too. Oh God. Oh God. Please no. Not again.

I slam a hand down onto the sink hard. It judders, and pain radiates out from my hand. My knees collapse from under me. I kneel before the sink, sobbing. My face is red and puffy, the wrenching sobs contorting my face. _Why this? Why, after everything else, why this? And most of all, why me?_

What did I ever do?

* * *

I walk back to my room slowly and silently. I enter the room without speaking. Ami looks up, her face concerned. She doesn't say anything and neither do I. I lie down on my bed, and turn out the lamp. Ami mimics me, and we lay side by side, motionless. We are actors rehearsing the same lines, but someone has changed them and they forgot to tell me.

"Did they get their happily ever after?" Ami asks. "After Patience."

She's asking about the story. I turn onto my side, wrapping my arms around the pillow.

"Kind of. Where did we get to?"

"They named the little girl Patience, to remind them."

"Patience grew, and grew. Their life changed, and grew, as they learnt more and more about each other. The woman fell pregnant again, and she and her adventurer celebrated. However their life was not all joy. The woman and her parents had fought and had not spoken to each other since Patience had been born. They had disagreed over the choice the woman had made about the man she loved. The woman wanted to speak to her parents, as she missed them dearly, but she did not want to be the first to apologise. She knew that her love for the man was right, and she felt admitting she missed her parents would be saying she was wrong. The man and the woman spoke, and decided that the woman should talk to her parents. However, they decided to late. Her mother died during one night during winter. They buried her under an ash tree. The woman went to her mother's funeral dressed in blue. Her mother had hated the colour black. She and her stepfather made up. He told her he and her mother had missed her, that her mother had been miserable without her daughters love. As the woman stood under the ash tree, a hand on her unborn child, she wished she had not let the distance between her mother grow. She had let her pride get in the way, and now she was going to bury her mother knowing she had not said goodbye. She had let her mother die believing she did not love her.

She had her baby boy on the first day of March. She named him Ash, for the tree she buried her mother under to remind her of all things that are good in life, and to take everything life gives you."

Focus on the good things in life. But right now, I can't come up with many.

* * *

The next morning, the doctor asks me to step into his office. I sit down in front of him. He looks over the top of his glasses. I wonder whether you are required to wear glasses when informing people of bad news. My old doctor wore them too.

When he tells me, numbness runs through my veins. I can feel tears pouring down my face. I already knew really, but somehow I kept the hope, that maybe, just maybe it wasn't. I couldn't believe that I had not seen all the symptoms, to fatigue, the pain in my joints, bruising so easily, the fever… the list went on. Yet I had not put two and two together. It had taken the tell-tale bruises along my back for me to fit the puzzle fully together.

It is time for me to call my father. I pull out the phone Victor had given Ami. It rings before a female voice answers. Patience.

It takes a while for me to get her to stop crying and scolding me, and pass me over to my dad. He answers cautiously, like he is scared it won't be my voice talking, that I'll be gone before he has gotten to the phone.

"Hey Dad."

He begins to talk, to tell me how happy he is that I'm okay but I cut him off. Because I'm not okay.

"Dad, I relapsed. I've got cancer." There is no way to soften the blow.

And even though I had thought I had cried all my tears, I find myself clutching the phone like a lifeline, crying with my father crying along with me over the phone.

Hey all you who are still reading. I hope people are still reading this. :-(

**Anyway, for those who still are, here's the next update. Hope you all liked it. It took a while to write. Please review. Thank you to all my constant reviewers. Love you guys! **

**Bye for now, I'll try to get another one done before the holidays, but I might not be able to manage it… either way, I'm only going for a week. Have a good holiday if I don't update soon!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I promise my father that I will come down and see him soon. He cannot leave work, and although he would, I don't think he should. Besides, I don't want him to see me when I look like this.

Ami is being released from hospital, and I am going with her. Originally the doctors wanted to keep me in here, as they feel they should maintain my condition, but I convince them I should be released with Ami. We are going to stay at a rented apartment in Denver. Ami wanted to be near Victor, and I couldn't argue. Victor arranged it all for us. Another thing I have to be thankful for him about.

Ami and I leave the hospital tentatively, shoulders hunched in against the world. I think both of us are scared we are going to have it all taken from us in an instant. Victor walks along behind us, guarding us against everything. I don't think he knows how to react to us. Well, to me. Ami has her moments, but I trip him up, knock his mask off. He doesn't know if I'll attack or burst into tears. I unnerve him. He isn't comfortable around me like he is around Ami. He is safe with the knowledge that Ami won't surprise him, and he is happy, his mask safe with her. He knows where he is with her. Another reason why he likes her over me.

We pass a park as we walk through the streets of Denver, and I cannot help the tears streaming down my face. I am free, and I will never stop counting my blessings.

One, I am free. I am no longer imprisoned.  
Two, my family is well, and I have a wonderful father and siblings.  
Three, my best friend will be living with me in an almost definitely beautiful apartment.  
Four, I can… I can see Victor every day, as a friend. It may not be perfect, but it is something. My life has taught me that there is always something, no matter how small.

I must not focus on the bad things. There are always bad things in life, and seeing the world through them is a bad idea. A very bad idea.

* * *

The apartment is beautiful. There is a large sitting room, white carpet, white sofa, white curtains. I get the feeling I am going to be very bad for this apartment. The entire apartment is spacious. There are two bedrooms, although Ami and I will share one. Neither of us like to be alone anymore. I guess the dark brings back memories that we can push out of mind during the day, but can never fully escape from.

The kitchen and living room merge together, a huge space in the centre of the apartment. I doubt we will use it much. The simple size of the apartment scares me. I have to fight the urge to cower in a corner, enclosed and safe. From the look in Ami's eyes, I know that she feels the same. I have read about how criminals when released from prison cannot face large spaces, and spend most of their time in one room. I wonder whether they are simply not used to such space again, or whether, like us, it terrifies them.

Victor stays with us, apparently to help us settle in. I think we all know it's Ami he is staying for. I am just hoping neither of them can tell how much that hurts.

I pace about the apartment, behind the big sofa that Ami and Victor are sitting on. I can tell it unnerves Ami. I hope it unnerves Victor too, although I doubt it. I think it irritates him though. That consoles me, if only slightly. After I have paced for a good five minutes, Victor decides to intervene. Ami has begun to flinch every time the floor creaks behind her. I would stop, but there is a part of me that wonders why she lets it bother her. It's not like anything ever really happened to her, and sitting safe in Victor's arms should make her feel safe. I know that if our positions were reversed, I would be fearless. She takes for granted all the things I would give everything to have. Good health, a mother, an untainted past…Victor.

Victor. Even his name makes my heart lurch. I want to question this stupid, idiotic crush on him, but I can't. This… _devotion_ to him feels so completely and utterly right. Like it is programmed into me. Perhaps it is. Perhaps I am meant to want the things I cannot have.

He turns to me now, jaw clenched slightly. His dark eyes are full of irritation, and are completely captivating. I tear my gaze from his before they can notice my infatuation, and begin my pacing again. He speaks, through his teeth.

"Could you please stop pacing? It is blatantly clear that it is upsetting Ami."

I glance at the girl he is defending. She is looking at him, her eyes warm with adoration. When she senses my glare, she glances at me, and then turns back to Victor.

"Oh no Victor, its fine. I don't mind, really."

It sounds flat, fake, and it is clear Victor hears that too. She isn't really defending me, and both she and I know that. But to Victor it seems the fragile little girl is trying to defend her friend, no matter how much it affects her. I clench my hands by my side, rage bubbling up inside me. I continue to pace.

"Grace! Stop it!" Victor barks at me.

It is ironic. If Ami had asked me outright to stop pacing, I would have done it in a heartbeat. She is like a little sister I have never had, and I would do almost anything to protect her. But to be told to stop by a man for whom I cannot control my emotions around, for the sake of her, I will refuse, and refuse point blank. I toss my hair over my shoulder.

"If you and Ami don't like me pacing, maybe you should move," I spit, irritation coursing through my veins.

"Listen, Ami has been through a lot, and I think she has the right-"

And I explode. Only now do I realise that it has been building up and up, a tsunami racing towards shore, collecting debris as it goes, and it is the final house which causes it to break on the shore.

"Ami has been through a lot? _Ami_ has been through a lot? Do you have any idea… and that you think that _she_ has been through a lot. Everyone in that bloody prison has been through a lot. I was in the same cell as her. What gives her the right to something because of what she's been through? What puts her over me?"

Victor tries to interject, but I won't let him. Nothing stops a tsunami once it has begun.

"And really, let's be honest. She hasn't really been through that much has she?" My voice has turned bitter, pain laced through my words. He tries to argue. I don't stop.

"She wasn't the one who was tortured, day in, day out. She wasn't the one who was held down as they put their cigarettes out on her arms. And they didn't try and see how much pain _she_ could endure, how much blood she could stand to lose before she passed out. But it's okay, because at least she didn't give up any information. Oh wait, she did. Everything they knew about me, they knew because of her."

My chest is heaving, and tears are collecting in the corners of my eyes. Victor and Ami are both staring at me. I cannot read the expression in Victor's eyes. There is shock…and something else I can't name. Ami has pain etched deep in her face. I recoil slightly from it.

She stands, her legs shaky. "I though you said it didn't matter," she says her little voice wavering. There is a pang of regret that makes me feel sick. "I should have guessed it did."

Tears well up in her deep blue eyes, before she turns and sprints out of the room. There is a slam deep in the apartment as she reaches our bedroom. Victor stands torn between the two of us.

Under my breath I whisper, "At least she wasn't raped," before the sobs burst from my chest, and I collapse on the floor in a ball.

And I can tell from the look of pity in Victor's eyes that I didn't say it quite quiet enough.

* * *

The sobs wrack my body, the sounds of despair ripping their way out my lungs. Regret is bitter in my mouth, and I wish I could take it all back. But nothing can stop a tsunami once it has started, and nothing can stop it beginning. All you can do is run.

Victor's quiet footsteps in the hall tells me who he has chosen. I don't know why I expected anything else, but I did. And it hurts so much.

I can hear Ami's muffled cries, and Victor's low, calm voice trying to reassure her. She doesn't calm down. I know only I can console her. Biting down on my lip, I supress the sobs that want to break me apart. I stand on unsteady legs and wiping my face of all the half dried tears, I walk towards our shared bedroom.

The door is half open, and I walk in. They both look up at my entrance, and Victor stands, leaving Ami's side.

"Maybe you shouldn't-"

I cut him off, my voice harsh. "Get out Benedict. I need to talk to her alone."

He glances back at Ami, but walks out without complaint. I sit at Ami's side and stroke her hair.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I'm not going to say it isn't true, because all those things happened, but I don't blame you for it." She goes to talk but I cut her off. "Don't say anything. Just listen. I was never angry with you, and I never cared, or am going to care that you caved under interrogation. You had to put yourself first, and you had never had any training on how to avoid questioning. That was never an issue. The only reason I said anything was because I was angry. Not angry with you, but with the people who did this to us, and with him. He pushed me, and God knows I snap easily. Everything had built up inside me and he knocked the dam. And I had had some bad news. I guess I couldn't handle one more bad thing about my life. I'm sorry."

She smiles. "No reason to be sorry. After all, it's all true. I was mainly upset with myself. As long as you don't mind, neither do I."

I wrap my arms around her and we lie there for a while. Ami gives a little chuckle.

"I guess I have to thank you. I hadn't realised how amazing Victor was until now. You helped me see the light."

She laughs, and I laugh with her, but it is hollow. "I think I'm going to ask him to be my boyfriend. I really, really like him." I smile and nod, but my insides feel like they are collapsing.

"We should probably go check on him. C'mon," I say.

I stand up and lead the way out the bedroom. Ami is a little behind me, stopping to collect herself.

Victor is on the phone when I reach the living room. His voice is soft, more gentle than I've heard it before.

"Yeah mom, I'm fine." The woman on the other end of the phone says something indistinguishable. Her voice is high pitched and slightly accented. I like her already.

"No, I didn't find her. I…I don't know what to think. I've checked the list of people that we rescued, and none of them are listed. She might not know, like Sky, or she could be working against the Savant Net, but I don't know. I'm so confused mom."

His mother replies, clearly asking why.

"I helped rescue these girls. One of them is so sweet, and kind…and the other-"  
He groans slightly. He must have thought of me. Only I could have irritated him so much he groans at the mere thought of me. "Ugh, I don't know what to think anymore. But the thing is, I don't know whether I want to find my soulfinder anymore. Whether I really want to look. I don't know anymore."

His mother begins talking. He listens attentively. I can see by the way the hard planes in his face seem to relax that his mother has given him good advice. I watch him as he listens. His long almost black hair makes him look like a prince from the stories I so love. He is wearing a shirt and under I can see the hard muscle it obscures. His face is stunningly handsome, chiselled and strong. He could have been a painting or sculpture with his ridiculously good looks, yet his eyes are something that could never be captured; deep dark brown captivating irises surrounding velvety black pupils which hold warmth I can only begin to perceive.

He turns and catches sight of me. My cheeks burn, my embarrassment at being caught staring extreme. He does not do anything to ease my shame, but continues to stare back at me, holding my eye contact. The expression on his face is strange, musing, intense.

"Yeah…mom look, I gotta go. Okay, bye…bye," he says, eyes never leaving me. He ends the call and lowers the phone from his ear. We stand, both locked in a staring match with the other. Victor opens his mouth to speak, but at that moment Ami bounds into the room. The silent trance we both seem to be held in breaks and I let out a deep breath.

Ami glances over at me, looking for encouragement. I force a smile on my face. I want Ami and Victor to be happy, and this is how they will be. I chant this over and over in my head, but no part of me is happy about this. I am not the most selfless person out there, and right now I want to be selfish. So, so much.

Ami takes a deep breath and looks Victor in the eye. "Victor? Could I talk to you in private for a sec?"

He nods and she leads him into the spare bedroom. I hear the door shut and with a very light tread, follow them. I press my ear against the crack.

"Victor. I…I really like you. From the moment I saw you, I've felt something for you."

_Doesn't everyone?_ I wonder.

"I like you too Ami," Victor answers. It is so certain, but I wonder whether he means it in the same way. Ami apparently feels the same way.

"Really? In the same way?"

He pauses, and the silent is full of the different things he could say. And all the things I want him to.

"…Yes. I-I think so. I don't really know what to think. This is all so confusing." I can picture him running his hand through his hair, tugging on the roots.

There is a slight noise and know that Ami has moved closer to Victor. "Maybe this will help you figure it out."

I scrunch my eyes closed. I can imagine what they are doing, and it hurts to know that my best friend is kissing the man I am pretty near to loving.

Ami speaks again, breathless. "That help?"

Victor's voice is slightly ragged when he replies. "Yep. Quite a bit."

She giggles. "Victor Benedict, will you go out with me?"

The "Yes" sends me to the floor, hunched over my knees. The expression "broken heart" never felt more apt. They are murmuring to each other but I try not to listen. I don't need that.

Ami says, "We should probably get back to Grace," which sends me scrambling to my feet.

"Grace can wait," Victor replies, and I can see him pulling her back towards him, the image clear in my head. I'm sure they are plenty busy when I slam out the apartment door, feet slipping on the polished wooden floor.

* * *

I find myself in a small cosy coffee shop on a street overlooking the bustling high street. I absentmindedly sip at the coffee placed in front of me, not noticing when it burns my tongue. I watch the people who pass by the window I sit behind and in my head I make up stories for each one. She is sick, a terminal illness which she has told no one about. She doesn't want to worry her family. He has been promoted at work, giving him and his family a lifeline they desperately need. That is her child, who she had when she was just that, but she loves more than everything. Sometimes I wonder whether someone ever does the same thing with me. Do they ever guess? Would anyone look at me and guess that she has been in a prison in Afghanistan for two months, or that girl's body is slowly collapsing, dying? Would anyone ever know?

I continue my game. Those two have been together since high school, slowly drifting apart but refusing to admit it. Their sheer determination to stay together will pull off. They love each other too much to ever break up. He works in Victor's office. I am too lost in my game to realise that my last guess was actually correct and he had seen me.

"Hey," Gavin says softly, pulling up a chair beside me. I jump, startled. He chuckles lightly.

"Lost in another world huh? I thought you had seen me, but I guess not. I'm the same. Really bugs Victor."

He is sweet, the way he tries so hard to make me like him. No matter how many times I snapped at him, he forgets and tries again. I promise to be nicer to Gavin this time.

"Yeah, I space out all the time. Jon used to say I went so far out to space, he needed at rocket to get me back."

It slips out my mouth before I realise. There is something about Gavin that makes me want to confide in. The ache in my heart whenever I mention Jon throbs. Gavin looks at my pained expression seriously.

"Boyfriend?"

"Fiancé," I correct him.

He smiles slightly sad and sighs. "I'm assuming ex?" he asks softly.

"Yup."It's close enough. We sit in comfortable silence for a while. He reaches over and takes my hand. I start slightly, surprised, but it is a comforting gesture, and I squeeze his hand back. I smile at him and his face lights up, his puppy dog eyes promising loyalty.

"This is completely in the wrong situation, and you're probably gonna say no, but would you like to grab coffee with me sometime?"

My first reaction is no. I haven't dated since Jon died, and I am completely hung up on Victor. But Victor is dating Ami. Maybe it is time for me to move on.

"What about now? We're at a coffee shop aren't we? C'mon, I'll get us both a coffee."

The way his face lights up makes me glad I did what I did.

"Sure, but I'm buying. Gentleman's gallantry. My Lady," he says, sweeping a deep bow.

"Kind knight," I giggle, and curtsey. He buys two coffees and carries them back to where we are sitting. I teach him my game and we sit, side by side, making up stories as the people rush by. Time seems to stretch on forever in this little spot of warm in the expanse of grey cold. Only when the dregs of our coffee have been cold for hours do we leave. He leads me across the street.

"This is my apartment. Coincidence huh?"

I murmur what my mother used to tell me. "There are no coincidences. Just luck."

Gavin smiles at me. "I'd never thought of it like that. I guess you're onto something there. Maybe. Wait, aren't they the same thing?"

"No, I don't think so. My mother used to say it. She wasn't one of those people who believed there is a plan, a fate set in stone. I think she thought we make our futures. It's up to us I guess. But maybe there is someone up there, pushing us towards certain things. Maybe not. Who knows?

Gavin's led me into the building and up some flights of stairs. We are walking along a long corridor of white painted doors. He stops in front of one with the number twenty three fastened to it. With a key he produces from his jacket pocket, he begins wrestling with the lock. I take it from his hands and ease the door open.

"Here. We had a door like this at home. You need to do it gently. Fighting it isn't going to get it open any quicker."

The lock clicks and the door swings open. "Taa-daa."

"You're amazing. You can be on door opening duty when you live here. It's obvious you are destined to be the one for this door. It usually takes about five tries to get that thing to budge," he laughs, leading me in.

The way he jokes about me living here confuses me. To be honest, the last time I really thought about having a future was my engagement to Jon. Even when I was trying to survive in prison it was simply surviving the next minute, not so I could do something when I got out. When Ami and I got the apartment, it was for where I was going to be sleeping that next night. I have learnt to live life by every second. I wonder whether I can look so far into the future to see a life with someone. Whether I can see past the cancer, past the treatment, into the place where it is not in the forefront of my mind. Whether I can see past the comparisons of Victor and Gavin my mind draws every time Gavin does anything. This seems as far away as the others. I hope _so_ much it isn't.

We are sitting on the grey sofa that sits before a large television. I look out the window from which I can see the coffee shop we had sat in. I point it out to Gavin. He scrunches up his nose.

"Would it be really stalkerish to say that I saw you go in and came down to see you?"

"Get away from me you creep! How dare you look out your window and then come over and talk to me!" I say, dramatically throwing myself backwards.

He laughs with me. "That's a no then?"

"Nah, I take offense so greatly I want to leave," I inform him, my voice saturated with sarcasm.

"Just checking. Can I ask you something? It's kinda personal."

"Just as long as it isn't when I'm on my period, sure."

He blushes a deep red. "No, no, nothing like that. Just…you spoke about your mother in past tense."

"That's not a question," I tell him. He bites his lip, and I relent.

"She died when I was four. Her name was Hope. She had cancer."

"I'm sorry," he says, eyes wide.

"You're forgiven," I reply.

"Sorry, and this time it's an actual apology. It must be so annoying for people to say that all the time… So, Hope and Grace huh?" he said, changing the subject.

"And Patience. Blame my dad for mine and my sister's names. He wanted us to be like my mother. She didn't like it but I'm glad he persisted."

"I'm sure," he says. It's nice to be able to talk like this. Gavin is going to be a good friend. It's what he wants to be to me that I don't know about. Not that he wouldn't be an amazing boyfriend, but I don't want a boyfriend. That's what I'm going with, not the-whole-I-prefer-his-best-friend-but-he's-dating -mine thing.

"Grace," he says, and I snap back to reality. Gavin smiles and I know he would forgive me anything. It makes it worse.

The light is fading and streaks of colour paint their way across the sky.

"Beautiful," he says, and I know he is looking at me.

"Isn't that the most clichéd chat up line ever?" I ask him, my eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, but I figured it's clichéd for a reason."

And then he is kissing me. His lips are warm and soft, but they aren't right. Something in me recoils, and I am flashing back to the prison. My breathing picks up and I am fighting for breath. My hands act on their own accord and I am pushing him away.

"Please," I beg, curling up into a ball.

"Grace, I'm sorry. What's the matter? I'm really sorry. I won't do it again," he is pleading and I am back in the apartment with Gavin at my side.

"It's okay. I'm sorry. It's not you. I'm still not out that prison yet." I shudder and he wraps his arm around my shoulders. "I'm broken Gavin, and I don't know how long it's going to take to fix me."

"I don't care. I really like you Grace. I'm happy to wait."

"I like you too Gavin."

"But not in the same way, right?" he asks, but it isn't a question.

"I don't know. I don't know _how_ to know." _Because I love your friend Victor Benedict._ "I-I'm not worth it."

He leans forward and smooth's down my unruly red hair before kissing the top of my head. "You are completely worth the wait. Look at you. We meet with you throwing a vase at my head. You are so unique. You are special, with a completely different look on the world. You're brave. You're beautiful. You are Grace, and you are grace. You are worth a wait, even if it is just to be your friend."

He kisses me on the nose and I cuddle up to his chest. I can feel tears in my eyes, a couple rolling down my cheeks.

"Okay," I tell him.

"Okay what?"

"Okay I will go out with you, Gavin Stonehouse."

He laughs, a jubilant sound, kissing me on the lips quickly. Not long enough to scare me, but a show of affection. He is changing for me, observing and learning the little details so I will be happy. I feel awful.

* * *

He walks me back to my apartment as I have absolutely no idea where it is. The streets are dark and Gavin's arm around my shoulders protects me like a bubble of light around us. When I knock on the door there is a little pause before it swings open and Ami flings herself at me.

"I've been so worried!"

Victor stands behind her, frown on his face. "You shouldn't have gone off like that. We didn't know where you were."

I roll my eyes. "Sorry _dad_, but I'm an adult now. I can take care of myself." I brush past him, into the apartment.

"She was with me," Gavin explains.

"You don't need to give an alibi. It's not like we murdered anyone."

He winks at me. "That we're confessing to."

I laugh, as a girlfriend should. Victor frowns slightly at the exchange.

"Well, I should be going, as should Gavin. C'mon," he says, walking towards the door. He blows a kiss at Ami, who giggles and pretends to catch it. Gavin swoops down and kisses me lightly on the mouth before jogging backwards towards the door. Both Ami and Victor stand frozen where they are.

Victor shakes his head, to clear it.

"Bye Grace," he says. His voice is strange, forced. I guess he hates me that much.

They leave and the door shuts with a final sounding click. Ami's squeals pierce the air.

"Oh my God, he kissed you! He kissed you! I'm missing context. Explain! Explain!"

"Chill Ami," I laugh. We stay up late talking about Victor and Gavin. I feel so ashamed at how jealous I am of Ami. I tell myself over and over that he is Ami's. I have Gavin now.

When we go to bed, the dark is oppressive. I lie, my breathing loud in the quiet room. There is a rustle across the room, and I tense. Then Ami is lifting the covers of the bed and slipping in beside me. I move closer to the wall and she wraps her arms around me to keep herself slipping of the narrow single bed.

"Remind us to get a double bed as soon as we can," I laugh.

She joins in. "Mmmm, and think of all the ways double beds can come in handy. Let's get one for both bedrooms."

We both chuckle at that. I extract my arms from underneath me and wrap them around her. She rests her head on my shoulder and I lower my head so my lips are by her ear.

"Two years passed. A new child joined the family and the man and woman could not decide what to call the little boy. The woman wanted to name him after a tree, like his father, but they wanted it to be something special. Something that had meaning. They nicknamed him little seed, but he could not go on with just a nickname.

One day Patience, who was five, got lost in the woods beside their house. Distraught, her mother and father desperately tried to find her, but as night fell, they still hadn't discovered her.

Then the six month old little boy began to try and crawl, without avail. His mother would try and pick him up, but he would cry and cry. To stop him, she walked with him in the direction he wanted to go in. Whenever she walked in a direction he did not want to go in, he would cry. He led her into the woods in which Patience was lost. After a while of walking, she found a small form curled up under a rowan tree. It was Patience. Cradling patience in one arm and her tiny son in the other, she walked back through the woods to the house.

Patience was a little cold, but otherwise there was no harm. As her mother lay by her bed, as she fell asleep, Patience spoke, her voice a murmur.

'Mommy?' she asked.

Her mother replied.

'I think we should call baby Rowan for the tree, because he protects us like in the story.'

Her mother remembered she had told her about the tree the stands by the door of the house and lets no evil past, only good.

They named the little boy Rowan, for safety, like the tree that stands guard over them."

Ami gives a little sigh and nestles into the pillow. I look down at the girl who I see as my best friend and my little sister, and think of my big sister, Patience, miles away in a different state. I miss her more than anything, and I hope she isn't too worried about me. Patience never lost her temper, but when one of us got hurt she would always get so worked up and it would take all of Ash's patience to calm her. I miss Ash too, always calm, always protective. He was our rock. Rowan would spend hours trying to irritate him, with no effect.

Rowan. I miss my hot headed brother so much. He got in more fights than anyone in our family, or even our small town. He is only a couple of years older than me, and more defensive than anyone I know. Unlike Ash who would simply stand unmoving in front of me to protect me, Rowan would leap to my defence. As the only other person in my family with savant powers, he was the closest to me, and often I was the only one who could calm him. As well as his main gift, he is the most gifted telepath I have ever met. No savant can really block him out. He is similar to Victor, unstoppable, deadly.

Victor. _Gavin_. Poor Gavin. He is so sweet and earnest, and I want to like him as much as he likes me. I don't want to be hung up on someone who so obviously does not like me back. I feel awful. This stupid, ridiculous infatuation is only going to hurt Gavin, and that is the last thing I want to happen. I have to get over it. I wonder why I am so attracted by Victor Benedict. I guess it is what he could be to me. I can see how sweet he is to Ami, how gentle, and I want it. That he is so indifferent towards me only makes me want to win him over more. It's that he is sarcastic and cynical and so much like me. He challenges me like no one has ever done before. He is strong and protective of Ami, and I am so scared. I want to be protected. Of course, the fact that he is ridiculously attractive doesn't help either.

As I lie on my side, listening to the rhythmic sound of Ami's breathing, I vow to myself that I will not let myself to think of Victor like that again. He is my best friend's and to like him like this is just going to hurt people. I vow that I will give my heart to Gavin, no one else. Gavin, not Victor.

I feel myself drifting away from wakefulness. As I spiral down towards the darkness, my subconscious dredges up an image of Victor's face when I surprised him after his phone call from his mom. His surprised face when he caught him watching him, which melted into a different shade of shock, alongside musing intensity. It burns itself to the back of my eyelids, his eyes which melded to mine a constant in my turmoil of dreams.

**Hey all! I''m so sorry this too so long to get to y'all. I've been on holiday. Hope you all liked it. Please please review. **

**Bye for now.**


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